Robert Duperre - The Gate 2 - 13 Tales of Isolation and Despair

Water trickled over the retaining wall. She drifted to the side of the building, cringed, and looked down. The level had risen overnight and the sea was choppy. Waves collided with the walls and flowed into the smashed windows on the level just below. She lifted her gaze, following the horizon line, taking in the new, watery world. Distant skyscrapers jutted from the sea as it slowly swallowed everything. And there were twinkling lights in the water now, the same sort of lights that came before the helicopter had been taken under the previous evening. She thought of those trapped inside the hulk of steel as it plunged beneath the ocean surface. Were they devoured by whatever it was that had taken them? Did they drown? In either case it seemed a horrible way to go.

Thoughts of her family entered her mind, and Angela crumpled. She writhed on the concrete while acid rain washed over her. Had her mother and father succumbed to the same fate as those in the chopper? When the oceans rose, had their house in the Cape been among the first to go? Were they dead? Were they suffering? Or had they found their own rooftop? Were they, like Angela, now hovering perilously close to the edge, surviving day-by-day, and waiting, just waiting, for the water to flood their sanctuary and bring them to the hungry mouths of whatever lay just beneath the surface?

She cried, long and hard. Her lungs and throat burned. She bellowed until she couldn’t any longer and then lay there, shaking and whimpering, ready to give up.

A gentle hand touched her shoulder. Angela looked up through moist eyes. It was Tommy. Of course it was. He wore a half-smile on his face and gazed down at her with affection. She brought her hand up and touched his cheek. It was soft, despite lumps of irritation where the rain had hit it. He leaned in and planted his lips on hers. She went with it, running her tongue over his mouth, opening wide, taking in all the comfort he had to offer.

Tommy lifted her up and brought her to the tent. He placed her inside, sealed the flap, and gradually undressed her. His mouth found her again, moved from her lips to neck to breasts to belly, placing gentle pecks wherever the burning rain had left its mark.

They made love for the first time in the depressing, soggy haze of morning. There was no crying out in pleasure for either of them. No moans of satisfaction left their throats. There were only soft sighs in the darkness of the tent, moving in tune with the crashing waves, using each other’s bodies for solace as if the gyrations could shake away the sorrow that had swallowed all hope.

September 8 th

Overnight, the Freemans disappeared. Angela kept vigil on the side closest to their building, hoping they would appear from inside, hold up a sign, and tell them all was fine.

It never happened. They were simply…gone.

Angela’s stomach rumbled. She doubled over in pain. Over the last few days, they’d run out of food and water. The last of the supplies Tommy had retrieved from the upper floors before they became submerged were gone. They’d thought they had plenty, surely enough to get by until help arrived. Now all they had to sustain themselves were the pigeons that sometimes landed on the roof. But getting their hands on the birds proved a tedious task, at best. They’d only caught three over the last seven days, and had to tear them apart with bare hands and eat them raw. At first Angela thought she couldn’t do it. Her savage hunger won out, however, and the second time she dove into the bloody meal like a starving lioness.

The worst, however, was the lack of water. They dared not drink the ocean water, even if they’d had the bravery to get close enough to obtain some. So they settled on gathering rainwater and drinking that. It was murky in their canteens and stung going down. Often they vomited after consuming it. But the body required water, and it was their only choice, so they dealt with it as best they could.

The ocean lights had begun to multiply, as well. They floated around the building like strings of Christmas lights, illuminating the evenings and casting a dull glow during the day. Angela decided that under different circumstances she might have found them pretty. The question of where they’d come from was the furthest thing from her mind.

To pass the time, she and Tommy made love. Every day, three times or more. The act allowed them at least a few fleeting moments of normalcy, of comfort. They would lay in each others’ arms afterward, shielded by their rapidly deteriorating tent, and talk about what they’d do when the world returned to normal. Not that either of them believed this would happen. Angela, for her part, was resigned to her eventual fate. Her only wish was to go on for one more day, despite the pain.

She was stubborn like that.

September 12 th

“We need something to eat,” said Tommy. “We need it now.”

“I know,” Angela replied, defeated. “But how are we gonna get some?”

The pigeons had ceased landing on the roof; like the Freemans, they seemed to have vanished. Even the seagulls, which she’d often noticed flocking around the tops of the taller skyscrapers as if they feared getting too close to the rising tides, were gone. It seemed the whole of the earth above the surface of the ocean had ceased to exist. For a moment Angela thought she and Tommy might be the last humans alive. She shuddered and forced that assumption from her mind.

“We can get some canned goods from the apartments,” said Tommy. “There was still a bunch of stuff in there before they flooded. Even bottled water. It should still be fine.”

“But we already talked about that. It… it’s under water.”

“I know. But heck, I can swim.”

“But…”

Tommy’s brow creased. His eyes looked tired. “There’s no other choice, Ang. It’s either that or starve.”

They made their way down the stairs. At least the flooding hadn’t reached that high yet. It wasn’t until they reached the top floor that they saw the water. It glistened in the weak light coming from the stairwell, but still appeared brown and dirty. Tommy plunged in. It came up to his waist. Angela followed. The water was cold. Goosebumps rose on her flesh.

They waded down the hallway until they reached apartment 14C. It was the old Beaulieu place, a nice older couple who’d fled, along with most of the city, when news of the impending tides spread. At the time, Angela had wanted to join them. It was Tommy, who lived in the apartment opposite hers, who came up with the idea to take refuge on the roof. It takes hours to reach the Green Mountains , he’d said. And that’s with no traffic. With everyone trying to reach higher ground, we’d be lucky to get there before the water gets us. Our best bet is to stay here and wait for help to come.

They entered the apartment. Magazines and other detritus floated past them. Tommy led Angela to the kitchen. The countertops were just above the waterline, islands of white marble resting in a brown sea.

“I’m going under,” Tommy said.

Angela hopped from foot to foot, her body growing numb in the cold water. “You need help?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Tommy dove beneath the surface. The water was so murky Angela couldn’t see any part of him when he submerged. Air bubbles popped in his place. Something brushed against her leg and she jumped, hoping beyond hope it was only Tommy as he rummaged through the lower cabinets.

A minute later he reemerged. He held in his arms a stack of canned vegetables. He placed them on the counter and winked at her.

“See, told you,” he said. “And I think I felt a case of bottled water down there, too. I’ll be right back.”

With another deep breath, Tommy plunged back into the murk. Angela took a garbage bag from the shelves to her rear and loaded it with cans. Once more Tommy brushed her leg, only she didn’t jump this time. She giggled a bit instead.